


Dinner

by HopeCoppice



Series: The Dowserverse [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Boarding School, Brief discussion of Armageddon and actions taken therein, Dowserverse, Found Family, M/M, Other, Strained Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:47:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23741035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeCoppice/pseuds/HopeCoppice
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale arrive to take Warlock out to dinner. But they're not alone.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Warlock Dowling, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Warlock Dowling
Series: The Dowserverse [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1694872
Comments: 20
Kudos: 255





	Dinner

**Author's Note:**

> This one got away from me a bit, sorry. Writing is hard at the moment but it's also keeping me sane, so... here's what I've got. Hope you enjoy it!

Warlock sat on the wall at the edge of the school grounds and pretended not to hear the rustling in the bushes behind him. It was a fairly high wall, about five feet tall, so he thought it was probably plausible that - if he was _very_ hard of hearing - he might not be aware of the small group whispering excitedly to one another in the shadowy foliage. Best to pretend he didn’t know they were there; Crowley would be here soon, and he would know what to do. If he didn’t, there was Aziraphale - who had finally been prevailed upon to join Crowley on one of his regular visits to the school.

Warlock wasn’t entirely sure how Crowley had managed to get away with taking him out of school once a month or so, but he was quite happy to put it down to _demonic wiles_ and ask no further questions. Aziraphale had never come, before - he hadn’t expected him to show up to talk to Duffers last week, either - and Warlock wasn’t quite sure what had changed for the angel to be joining them for this lunch. He’d assumed - though Aziraphale had been friendly enough on the phone - that he really _had_ disappointed Brother Francis, what with being something of a wayward kid. He’d been rude, and obnoxious, and he probably still was both of those things. There was no reason for Brother Francis to subject himself to that in person. And yet… Crowley had been very clear about it, in his text.

_Aziraphale says he’ll join us, if you don’t mind._

And of course Warlock had texted back to say that of course he didn’t mind, because how could he object to the presence of an actual angel, when he spent so much time with a demon? Besides, he owed Aziraphale a thank you for helping his friends; he’d brought his tuck money and was hoping he could afford to buy the man a sticky bun or something. Crowley barely ate, but he was always mentioning things that were Aziraphale’s favourites; the angel liked food, and Warlock wanted to express his gratitude, so he would buy him food.

The bushes shook again and he sighed.

“You lot aren’t very subtle, you know.”

“Rats! This is your fault, Monty, why do you have to fidget all the time?”

“It’s all right for you lot, those are hawthorn bushes, they’re hardly prickly at all-”

“Well, it wasn’t _my_ idea for you to hide in that thing.”

“Who’d look in a pyracantha?”

“Who’d _hide in one?”_

“Alright, guys, just come out.” Warlock turned to straddle the wall, so he could see the line of bedraggled boys emerge from the bushes. “Why were you hiding in the bushes anyway?”

“We wanted to see the demon,” Wellies admitted guiltily, ignoring the way Monty was still glaring at him. Monty, who Warlock noticed was completely covered in scratches.

“Come and sit on the wall, then, there’s a better view. Monty, why would you pick the spikiest bush on the grounds?”

“I already said. Nobody would suspect it.” As he spoke, he scrambled up the tree whose branches hung over the edge of the wall, a tree that had facilitated students’ escapes for decades. “Turns out there’s a good reason for that.”

“Let’s have a look at those cuts,” Warlock demanded, as the rest of the boys made their way up onto the wall, and Monty obediently held his hands out. “You’re an idiot, Monty, you know that?”

“I’m beginning to get that idea,” Monty admitted, as on his other side, Rich handed him an antiseptic wipe. “Why do you even have those?”

“Nicked a couple from the nurse after the last big rugby match.” Rich shrugged. “I was a Scout, you know. Be prepared and all that.”

“Were they big on stealing, in the Scouts?” Crowley asked, and Warlock scoffed.

“Like you can talk, Cr- Crowley!”

Duffers almost fell off the wall, and it had to be some kind of miracle that Wellies was able to react in time to pull him back. Rich had turned white, Monty had paused mid-grimace, the antiseptic wipe pressed to a cut on the back of his hand, and Warlock could only stare at the demon in front of him.

“When did you get here? Where’s your car?”

“Round the corner,” Crowley told him, “Aziraphale’s on his way. He’s fussing with his bow tie in the mirrors, I told him to catch me up.” He grimaced. “Apparently I’ve been _hovering_. And, apparently, I’m not the only one.”

Warlock followed his pointed gaze to the rest of his friends and shrugged.

“They wanted to see you. You’ve got a fan club, just what you’ve always wanted.”

“I do _not_ want a fan club. That’s a vicious lie, and just because I said Mary Poppins was an overrated hack _one time-”_ Crowley cut himself off as he noticed Warlock’s smug expression. “Oh, shut it, you. Shouldn’t you lot be in class, anyway?”

“We’ve got a half-day. That’s why Dowser’s free to go to lunch,” Wellies told him, and Crowley rolled his eyes. For the first time, Warlock spared a moment to consider that the half-day had sort of come out of nowhere. Almost miraculously.

Aziraphale appeared around the corner, now fiddling with the buttons of his waistcoat, and Warlock took a deep breath.

“Er, d’you lot want to come? You don’t mind, do you, Crowley?”

“Hm? No. No, I suppose not. The more the merrier.”

“Should we go and get our tuck money?” Duffers offered timidly, and Warlock remembered belatedly that going out for lunch cost money.

“No, no, I’ve got it. Infernal credit, they haven’t cut me off yet. Come on, then, you lot, we’re walking into town.”

“Don’t you have to tell someone you’re taking us?” That was Rich, who seemed quite keen to stay on top of the wall even as the others jumped down.

“It’s the strangest thing, you’ve all been properly signed out into my care already. Unless of course, you don’t want to come.” Crowley took a step closer to the wall and pushed his sunglasses up onto the top of his head, peering up at Rich in concern. “That’s fine, if you’d rather stay.” 

Rich flinched away from Crowley’s snake-like eyes, but then he seemed to pick up on the sincerity in them. “No, I’ll come.”

Crowley held out a hand to help him down, and only replaced his sunglasses when Rich was standing safely next to the rest of them. “Great. Angel, you remember the boys? Boys, Aziraphale? Great. Let’s go.”

Rich stuck close to Warlock as they trooped down the road; Aziraphale had shaken hands with each of the other boys and was now engaging them in an excruciating conversation about modern slang that Crowley just couldn’t seem to keep out of. Gradually, as the two stragglers slipped behind, Rich seemed to relax.

“You’re sure we’re safe?” He murmured under his breath, and Warlock smiled at him as sincerely as he could. “Course we are.”

“And they’re not… they’re not angry with me? For upsetting Duffers? And saying… saying what I said?”

“Why would they be angry with you?”

“Well, you know. They’re… together. And I said-”

“You didn’t know any better. Now you do. Nothing to be afraid of,” Warlock told him firmly, but Rich raised an eyebrow.

“Then why are _you_ hanging back, too?” 

Warlock glared at him and sped up, forcing his friend to follow suit; they rejoined the pack, but it wasn’t long before Warlock found himself dawdling again, eyes on the ground. 

“Warlock?” He couldn’t help it; he jumped. Aziraphale, Principality, Angel of the Eastern Gate, Guardian of Eden had fallen into step with him while he wasn’t paying attention. “Are you… is everything all right, my dear boy?”

Warlock tried to speak, to reassure him that of course he was all right, but no words came out. Aziraphale’s brow furrowed, and then he tried again, smiling hopefully.

“Does this help?” He sounded like Brother Francis, all of a sudden. He sounded like the mild-mannered gardener who’d taught Warlock never to harm a living creature. But he wasn’t. He was an angel, all blinding radiance and ethereal strength and… well, Warlock wasn’t sure of his own place on the good-evil continuum, but he suspected - given the mix-up - that it was somewhere towards the Hellish end of the spectrum. And this angel… this fearsome guardian of light… he _wasn’t_. He was the sort of thing demons probably had nightmares about. Warlock wasn’t a demon; he was just a kid, with no powers of any sort, and he was scared. “Now, now, young Warlock. Don’t you remember your old friend Brother Francis?”

Crowley turned his head with a wince, shaking his head in Aziraphale’s direction - _don't do that -_ but then his gaze slipped across to Warlock.

“Hey, you guys go ahead for a bit, yeah?” The other boys were barely listening to him, caught up in a heated debate about whether they were too old to get a meal with a toy, so nobody really seemed to mind when Crowley dropped back alongside Warlock. Flanked by Aziraphale on one side and Crowley on the other, Warlock felt more incapable of speech than ever. It wasn’t even as if he was _scared_ of Crowley. It was just an awful lot for a teenager to take in.

“All right, lamb?” Crowley caught himself and stamped out the Scottish lilt from his voice like he was crushing the nations of man beneath his heels. “I mean. Er. How are you doing, Warlock? Looking a bit peaky, there.”

“I think it’s me,” Aziraphale admitted worriedly, “I’m not sure what I’ve done, but… he’s been all right with you, hasn’t he?”

“Hmm. Want to talk to one of us alone, lamb?”

“Crowley-” he managed, and Aziraphale bowed his head. For a moment, Warlock felt bad; he almost forgot how much divine power was packed into that deceptively-genteel tartan package. Then he remembered, and he squashed down the impulse to apologise. Nanny Ash wouldn’t have offered him something he wasn’t allowed to accept, after all.

Aziraphale walked a little faster, not quite catching up to the rambunctious boys leading the way, but giving Warlock and Crowley plenty of space to speak privately.

“All right, then, what’s wrong?”

“Brother Francis is… he’s an angel. An actual _angel_.”

“Yes. I told you that last term. You’ve spoken to him on the phone- what’s changed?” Warlock hesitated, and Crowley softened even further. “You’re not in trouble, lamb. I just want to understand.”

“I didn’t get it before! But he’s all- all _shiny_ , and _wings_ , and- and you thought I was the Antichrist. So he probably would have killed me, wouldn’t he?” Crowley flinched, but Warlock blundered on. “And I’m just a kid, I don’t know how to deal with angels and demons and stuff-”

“I’m a demon, and you’re talking to me.”

“But you’re- you’re _Nanny Ash_ ,” Warlock told him, bewildered, “and you’ve never- I mean- you’re so normal-looking.”

“I’m not going to be offended this time,” Crowley warned him teasingly, “but don’t call me normal again. Anyway, what about my eyes? If anything was going to scare you-”

“No, they’re cool!”

“Right. Well, you know I have wings too, right? And powers?” He snapped his fingers and a spark of fire appeared between them, just for a moment before Crowley blew it out. “I used to spend a good part of my time as a giant snake, I’m sure I told you that.”

“But I- I-” He faltered. “I’ve never _seen_ that.”

“Ah,” Crowley muttered. “Now that makes a little more sense.”

“Is he going to kill me?” Warlock asked, his voice sounding very small in his own ears, and he knew it was a stupid question - Crowley wouldn’t let anyone hurt him, he knew that - but the demon only reached out and tugged him into a tight hug.

“Oh, lamb. No. Not even if you _were_ the Antichrist. He loves you, you know that, don’t you? Brother Francis loved you. Aziraphale- he’s the same. He’s still the same person.”

“I know, but-”

“Trust me, lamb?”

Warlock pulled himself free so he could study Crowley’s face, but the truth was that he had always trusted his Nanny Ash implicitly, and he wasn’t about to stop now. He nodded.

“I should have seen this coming, really. You lot do make me laugh - summoning a demon is all well and good, but you’re afraid you’ll go to Hell for falling in love, and now this - angel! Warlock needs a word.” He lowered his voice. "Just talk to him. You'll see."

And with one last look, Crowley walked back up to the front of their little party, leaving Warlock alone.

He wasn’t alone for long, of course; Crowley exchanged a few words with Aziraphale before the latter dropped back and began to walk alongside Warlock.

“You, er, you don’t have to talk to me,” Aziraphale began awkwardly, “Crowley’s told me you’re… you were a little alarmed by my appearance the other week. I can’t tell you how sorry I am to have made you uncomfortable.” He sighed. “I suppose I should have just sent a text message or called you or something, to reassure your friends, but- well, I thought an angel’s word might carry more weight than your old gardener’s, and if I was going to _say_ I was an angel I thought I should just go ahead and prove it.”

“Why?” Warlock managed to find his voice just long enough to ask the question, then ducked his head so his hair would hide his face. He felt very exposed, suddenly, afraid to be seen by this greater being. Aziraphale, however, didn’t seem perturbed.

“Why? Why did I visit? Well, you sounded worried about your friends, dear boy. I couldn’t just let you worry about them, not when it was in my power to set all your minds at ease.”

“Because Crowley was worried about me?” Warlock could understand that; Crowley had told him that he wasn’t a disappointment, that he cared for him as if he was his own child, and Warlock believed him. If Aziraphale loved Crowley, of course he wouldn’t want the demon to be upset. “And you love him?”

“Because _you_ were worried, and I’m very fond of you.” Aziraphale frowned. “You do know that, don’t you? Crowley and I - we raised you together. With your parents, of course. But we- you- well, I think of you as like… angels don’t have children. Not… not biologically. But I’ve always considered you as like a son to me. The closest I’m ever likely to get.” He chuckled nervously. “I hope that’s not an odd thing to say-”

“But,” Warlock blurted, “but I’m a disappointment. You thought I was evil, and then I didn’t even do that right! You don’t like me-”

“No, no. I _do_. Oh, dear. I’ve never been as good at this sort of thing as Crowley. He’s much better at _saying_ things, I just- I was afraid to get too attached, Warlock, in case- in case the worst came to the worst. But I’ve never been as relieved as I was to realise that you weren’t the boy I thought you were. I never wanted to harm you, Warlock.”

“Would you have?” Warlock asked, though he had a sinking suspicion he knew the answer. “Did you hurt the real Antichrist? To save the world?”

“No,” Aziraphale answered, a little too quickly, and then, “I… I did try. I can’t pretend I didn’t, and I’m not proud of it, but I was panicking. He’s fine, but… yes. I tried.”

“You tried.” Warlock frowned. “Would you have tried, if it was me?”

“I don’t know, I’m afraid.” Aziraphale shook his head. “I can never really know. To save the world… I might have. And I’m very sorry for that.”

Warlock thought about that for a moment. He thought about it for several moments, as his friends laughed and joked up ahead, unaware of their friend’s worries. Had it been like this for Crowley and Aziraphale, the world going on around them as if they weren’t struggling with something momentous? And if Warlock had been stood there, at the end of the world, and the only way forward had seemed to be to hurt Crowley - to hurt someone he cared about to save the rest of the _world_ \- mightn’t he have made a stupid decision in the heat of the moment?

“OK,” he said, and Aziraphale nodded.

“I’m sorry. I won’t try to tag along on any more of your-”

“No.” Warlock shook his head. “You were honest with me then, so I trust you to be honest now. Are you going to hurt me or my friends?”

“Of course not!”

“Well, then.” He held out his hand for Aziraphale to shake. “We’re all good.”

Aziraphale stared at him blankly for a few seconds, then shook his hand with a smile.

“You’re so like Crowley. He doesn’t make any sense, either.”

“We make _loads_ of sense.”

“Of course you do. My mistake. So we’re still friends?”

“Yeah, of course we are.” Warlock grinned. “Are you hungry? I’m suddenly starving.”

“Oh, yes! Well, we’re nearly there - come along, young fellows, I’m sure we can walk faster than that with food at the end of the road!” And Aziraphale overtook the rest of the boys, allowing Crowley to drop back into place beside Warlock.

“All good?”

“All good, Nanny Ash.”

“You’re never going to stop calling me that, are you?”

“Nope.”

Dinner was an informal affair that stopped just short of a food fight. Crowley ended up deep in discussion with Monty and Wellies-

“No, you’d think that’d be flammable, but actually, what you want is-”

-while Aziraphale sat beside Rich and began talking to him in a soft, melodic tone that seemed to set him at ease. Warlock was left with Duffers, which wasn’t a bad state of affairs.

“Duff,” he asked him cheerfully, “are your boyfriend and my nanny about to burn the school down, or is that just me?”

“No, they might be planning to burn the school down,” Duffers told him. “I’ll talk him out of it, don’t worry.”

“We’re not burning the school down. These are _theoretical_ Molotovs,” Crowley interrupted over Wellies’ head, then turned his attention back to his own conversation as if nothing unusual had happened. Aziraphale frowned at him, but seemed to decide nothing was amiss. And if Aziraphale thought nothing was amiss, they were probably OK.

“Crowley did mention something,” Warlock admitted to Duffers, “something that’s a bit weird, now I think about it.”

“Oh?” Duffers’ brow furrowed in concern. “Something we did?”

“No, well- sort of, I suppose. Do you think it’s weird that we were all fine with summoning a demon, but Rich thought you were going for Hell for kissing Wellies? And then you were worried about that?”

Duffers thought about it.

“Nah.” He shrugged. “Everyone summons a demon at some point in their life, right? Besides, we’d already decided not to do it again. Didn’t realise you were going to summon him by _text_.”

“Everyone-” Warlock considered it for a moment. “Yeah, all right.”

“Whereas Wellies- I’m just glad it’s OK. I don’t do very well in hot climates.”

“Hell’s cold and damp, actually,” Crowley interrupted, “miserable for us cold-blooded types.”

“Crowley, would you _please_ try to stick to your own conversation?” Aziraphale’s voice had taken on a long-suffering tone, and it only intensified as Crowley flicked a chip at him before going back to whatever discussion he was having with the boys. Aziraphale waited until he looked away, then ate the chip.

“You grew up with these two?” Duffers asked, and Warlock rolled his eyes.

“I know. It’s a miracle I survived.” He frowned. “Possibly a literal miracle.”

“You must have some stories to tell. Go on.”

And Warlock, surrounded by his family, did.


End file.
